She wanted to spit at his feet. Instead, she looked at the robe they held out: a shift of rough-spun brown wool, so thin it was almost translucent. No. Not even that. The septa reached for the shears.

Walk.

Not as a queen. Not as a supplicant.

A man lunged through the line of Faith Militant. His breath was sour wine. He grabbed her breast, squeezed hard, and laughed before a gold cloak shoved him back. Cersei staggered. For a moment, her composure cracked. A sob—raw and animal—escaped her throat. But she swallowed the next one.

She pushed herself up. The pain in her knee became a distant signal. The cold became a cloak. The blood from her foot left a faint red print on the stone, and she used it to mark her territory. She lifted her chin—bare, stubbled, naked—and she walked.

The Crown and the Penitent: An Analysis of Cersei Lannister’s Walk of Atonement

The septa chanted for the last time: “…and for these sins, she shall atone.”